


Three Men in a Double Bed

by kolibris



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Cuddling, Fluff, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Subtext, stupid idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-24 03:15:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14346843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kolibris/pseuds/kolibris
Summary: This bed ain’t big enough for the three of us.





	Three Men in a Double Bed

**Author's Note:**

> Long time no see! This is a little thing I wrote to feel better while being stressed out of my gourd. (Because don’t stupid bed-sharing shenanigans fix just about anything?) Enjoy!
> 
> (Apologies to [Trio](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ki73qck4dK4).)

Ryuji slaps his cards down and leaps to his feet with righteous fury. “That was total DICKSHIT!”

“Wow, a whole new kind of shit,” Akira says.

He lost too, so he really shouldn’t be smirking like an asshole over Ryuji’s despair, but it’s actually kind of funny so he’s doing it anyway. The couch isn’t the worst option, after all, and watching this unfold is almost like a consolation prize.

Mishima stops his cheering long enough to throw Ryuji an uncharacteristically smug smile of his own. He picks the winning card back up and waves it around, just to twist the knife a little deeper. “Hope that carpet is soft, Sakamoto!”

“No way!” Ryuji hollers. He drops down hard onto the grand prize, the last remaining bed, with enough force to roll himself over, and when he stops he glares back at them with open scorn. “Screw this game and screw you guys!”

Mishima breaks out into giggles. “You’re such a sore loser.”

“Oh yeah? You think I lost? I ain’t giving up yet, ‘cause I’m not getting off of this. I’m sleepin’ here tonight!”

“Hey! That’s not fair!” Mishima folds his arms. “Why’d you suggest cards if winning doesn’t even matter?”

“‘Cause I didn’t think it was gonna be me gettin’ the short end of the stick again,” Ryuji says.

For a second, Mishima looks like he might back down. If it was a couple of months ago he probably would have, but Akira knows he’s since discovered the joys of giving Ryuji a hard time. Mishima clambers over to the other bed and musters up what he thinks must be a defiant look. “Well, I… I won, Sakamoto, so I’m not giving up my bed!”

“That’s cool,” Ryuji says, sitting up. “I’m down to share.”

“Share?!”

Akira takes that as his opening. He sidles over to stand by the bed. “Sounds pretty good to me. I mean, if we’re saying the bed’s free game for everyone now—”

“It’s _not!_ ”

“—then I need to get my spot.” He forces his way on, callously ignoring Mishima’s quiet whines of “But I won…” as he lounges out around the other two, and Mishima looks utterly betrayed. He can just deal, because Akira spending a night in his own bed is the least he deserves after generously listening to hours of Phansite sysop bullcrap. “See, it’s not so bad.”

“Dude!” Akira immediately feels a hand clap him across the back of the head. “I was here first!” 

Akira can hear Ann giggling away to herself, and when he looks over and catches her eye, she fans herself out like she’s making a beautiful snow angel on her bed. “There’s sooooo much room here! It’s great.”

“Yeah, laugh it up over there,” Ryuji says. “You can keep hurtin’ my feelings, I don’t care.”

“You know this is all your fault, right? Like one of you can just go sleep on the couch?”

“Tempting,” Akira muses, “but I can wait it out.”

“Me too!”

By now, Mishima has edged himself all the way over to the far side of their bed. He’s giving Akira and Ryuji this wary look like he can’t quite figure out their next move, which is good; nothing gives them a leg up like staying unpredictable. “We’re not _really_ all gonna sleep together,” he says.

The smile that Akira returns is not at all reassuring. “That’s what you think.”

“Takamaki—!”

“Umm, good luck there, Mishima-kun,” Ann says, snuggling herself into bed.

It’s a dangerous game they’re playing now. Akira fires the first shot – he goes for the pillows, making a show of fluffing them up and placing them back just so, before Ryuji takes a third and forces it between them. He lays his whole ass out right in the middle of the bed and makes an obnoxious, sleepy sigh as he relaxes back. A bold power move if Akira’s ever seen one.

“Okay guys, I’m really going to bed now,” Mishima tries. 

Too little, too late. They don’t budge one bit. So Mishima very deliberately peels back the covers on his side and slowly slides under, watching them the entire time. With a grin, Ryuji goes underneath too, and Akira squeezes in next to him until they’re sandwiched incredibly, uncomfortably close together, and then Ryuji pulls up the blanket until it almost hits their chins. Akira even reaches over and tucks the blanket in around Mishima a bit. He doesn’t seem to appreciate the gesture.

“I hate you guys,” Mishima says.

“‘Night, Mishima,” Ryuji says. 

“Good night, everybody,” Akira adds.

Ann’s turned herself over as far away as she can. “Stop bringing me into this!”

Akira clicks off the light and there, it’s final, there’s no coming back from this. He’s made his bed and now he’s literally going to lie in it, at least until someone finally can’t take it anymore and gives up their spot – which he hopes is soon, because everything about this situation is god awful for actually going to sleep. He can’t even lie on his back; the bed is so narrow that everyone sleeping shoulder-to-shoulder is impossible. They all have to make do on their sides instead in a complete mess of sheets and sprawled limbs.

And, honestly, that last part is all on Ryuji. His elbows and knees somehow seem to point anywhere and everywhere, so even the smallest motion Akira makes is rewarded with an accidental jab into them. It would help if Ryuji was facing the right direction to begin with and not directly forwards at Akira, their legs having nowhere else to go but into each other.

“Sorry, man,” Ryuji whispers. “If I’m the other way, I gotta face Mishima and his stink eye.”

Ryuji considerately moves his legs down a little, which just knocks Akira right in the shins, and they’re still too close and too warm next to his.

“A little more,” Akira urges.

“Uh, sorry. Can’t move back any more than this.”

“It’s alright, I can just…” Just flip over, that’s what he wants to do, but his movement is ruined by the fuckery that is their tangled legs and blanket, so it becomes more of a heavy, sudden flop over onto his other side. Whatever, awkward, but he made it.

“Dude, you want to spoon?”

“Uh, that’s not what I’m doing,” Akira whispers back.

“You coulda just said so.”

Ryuji sounds so amused. Dumbass. Akira won’t dignify that with a response, because his much more important focus is on making sure he doesn’t accidentally mash his ass into Ryuji’s junk while he gets himself situated. He lifts himself up and picks around at the bunched-up sheets underneath him with surgical precision until everything is smooth and even and perfect, and then he settles back down and realizes he’s hanging almost half off the bed now.

With a long-suffering sigh, he inches backwards slowly, very slowly, until the gap between him and Ryuji is only barely enough.

“Whoa,” Ryuji says.

“Don’t say anything.”

“I’m not, I’m just sayin’, whoa.”

Ryuji goes quiet after that, and Akira finally closes his eyes. He lies there, stiff as can be, waiting for his jet lag to kick in and knock him unconscious – but sleep refuses to come to him. He tries harder, reaches out and holds onto the wisps of sleepiness he feels, but they’re lost from his grasp each time. It’s like he can’t focus with these hot puffs of air on the back of his neck, sneaking in through his curls to tickle his skin and annoy the shit out of him. 

“Ryuji, stop. You’re breathing on my neck.”

“I gotta breathe to live! Goddamn!”

“But do it somewhere else.”

He can feel Ryuji huff before he moves, then—oh, wait, doesn’t that feel like his face now? Yeah, that’s his cheek and his ear, like he’s just angled himself up against the nape of Akira’s neck instead and that’s not even close to being better. Maybe Akira should just stop complaining. Opening his mouth is only causing him more problems.

“There, you good now?” Ryuji says.

Akira is going to have to be good with this. He says a quick “Yeah,” to Ryuji, which pleases him, and then he just says nothing at all when Ryuji decides that now is the perfect time to readjust himself in bed, squirming around and bumping into him as he does whatever he needs to do to make himself more comfortable. This goes on for awhile. Akira wouldn’t even be surprised if Mishima suddenly barreled over and started wailing on them, because all this rustling around must be making an infuriating amount of noise.

“Shit,” Ryuji grunts. “My shoulder is still buggin’ me. Hold on.” He bounces around one last time and Akira patiently ignores Ryuji’s thighs smacking up underside his. Fine.

Then Ryuji swings his arm over and lays it perfectly across Akira’s waist.

“Okay, what the hell is this?”

“I can’t sleep if I’m not comfy and that was uncomfy as shit,” Ryuji mumbles.

“But—your _arm_.”

“Where else am I s’posed to put it? There’s no room anywhere!” 

_Up your ass!_ It wants out of his mouth so, so badly, but somehow Akira holds it in. If he really wants to get mad over it, the couch is right over there and frankly looking pretty alluring at this point, but being here now is a matter of pride. He’s going to stick it out, even if he _has_ been demoted to being Ryuji’s little spoon.

And wow, they’re really, really close together. It’s on the verge of being way too warm – Ryuji is this long, lean furnace radiating heat right into him – but as Akira slowly begins to adjust to it, he also tries to make peace with the idea that maybe they’re actually going to sleep like this. For whatever reason, the longer he lays here, the more it feels... strangely nice. There must just be something comforting about the presence of another body draped around him, like Morgana but on a grander scale, and the weight of Ryuji’s arm offers a gentle pressure, just enough to relax him, with his hand tucked near him in a loose, easy fist. When Ryuji breathes in, Akira can feel the brush of his chest expanding against his back, and that’s kind of relaxing too, the steady rhythm lulling him into one of his own. 

His eyelids start to droop a little. Maybe this isn’t so bad after all. Which Akira doesn’t say, of course, because there’s never a right time to admit to your bro that he’s a nice cuddler. That’s some girlfriend’s job.

Wait a minute.

“Hey Ryuji,” Akira whispers until Ryuji stirs. “You ever get to do this with a girl before? Like, sleep like this?”

“Uhh… no.” Ryuji fidgets a little bit behind him. “Have you?”

“Nope.” Then, as punishment, Akira lets himself stew in the knowledge that they have completely and unwittingly stolen this first from each other. God, they’re stupid.

“You’re not thinkin’ of going over into Ann’s bed, are you?”

Akira imagines it for longer than the zero seconds he should have and in return, he’s hit with a burst of warmth to his cheeks. “What? Whoa, no way. I’m staying here with you.” Ugh, wait, saying that makes his face feel even hotter.

“Good, ‘cause I was about to say, man…!” Ryuji says, on the edge of a high, nervous chuckle. His arm presses tighter against Akira for a second. “She’d kill you and then she’d kill me for not stoppin’ you. Not even worth it. Don’t do it.”

“I won’t. I like my balls where they are.” And hey, great idea to start talking about his balls when he’s already feeling kind of self-conscious and weird pressed up against his best friend. At least Ryuji snickers over it.

“For real, me too,” Ryuji says, and then Akira can almost hear his brain grind to a halt. “I mean—not _yours_ , I was meanin’ more like mine or—like, in general, or—uhh. Uh, n-never mind.” 

“Maybe we should just. Go to sleep now.”

“Yeah.”

So they lie there, nice and quiet, and everything is definitely chill and no one is thinking about each other’s balls.

“Seriously though,” Ryuji whispers, “I gotta look out for you. Bro code, y’know. No one’s gonna denut you on my watch.”

Akira finally can’t help it; he stifles his belly laugh into the side of his pillow, where it’s muted into something less likely to wake up the whole room. “Ryuji! Shut up already!” he whispers. “Okay! Okay, thanks, you’re great. Doing a great job.” When he peeks back, all he sees is Ryuji’s unimpressed face. “Come on, it’s not totally sarcastic. Not like I was even doing anything, but you were watching out for me anyway, so… thanks.”

“‘Course,” Ryuji says, looking far more satisfied now. “What’s your best friend for?”

“True,” Akira hums. “So can we drop it and go to sleep now? Best friend? Broseph?”

Ryuji pops him in the chest with his hand, too softly to be out of genuine irritation, and drops it back down right up next to Akira. “Man, whatever. ‘Night, Akira.” It seems like he’s not going to move it because he leaves his hand lying there, and it curves his arm that much more around Akira. This time, Akira stops trying to fight it—however hot and weird he feels already—and he lets himself relax under his arm until he makes a great big sleepy yawn. Damn. He’s never going to live any of this shit down.

“‘Night, Ryuji,” Akira says, and somehow, he’s lucky enough to fall asleep before he can hear Mishima quietly curse him out.


End file.
